To escape a violent and controlling husband, Cheryl needed money. She wanted to leave South Africa and start a new life. She steeled herself to do anything.
I met Cheryl here in La Paz, in the women´s prison and have spent much of the last several days visiting with her. She is a very frank and engaging person and has experienced more than most in the past 26 months. She accepts full resposibility for her actions and told me about her life before and during her time in prison.
A friend of her husband agreed to give her $5,000 if she would trasport 2 suitcases from La Paz to Mallorca, Spain. She agreed, flew here, rented a room and awaited instructions. She was given $500 for expenses and told to purchase enough clothing to fill the suitcases which arrived at her room, seemingly, empty. The cocaine was pressed flat between carbon paper to fool X-Rays, then covered in coffee syrup to fool the dogs and hidden in the base of each suitcase. Foolproof.
After 5 days in La Paz she took her suitcases to the airport and was boarding the plane when she was pulled aside. She remembers the name of the beautiful but well trained golden lab which was running back and forth between her two bags on the tarmac. She denied the bags were hers however, the luggage tags matched those on her boarding pass. The customs agent fired up a chainsaw and ran it through her luggage sending white powder everywhere.
I tried and failed, 3 times, to bribe my way into the men´s prison here, after reading/hearing about how interesting it is inside. Then I learned about a white lady busted for smuggling so decided I would ask to visit her and am glad I did. Cheryl thanks God that she was busted in Bolivia instead of Europe or USA where she would recieve 10 to 20 years in a hard prison. Or in Asia where she could be executed for smuggling 8kg of cocaine worth over $500,000 on the resort beaches of Spain.
Her life is not all that bad she says, considering. She is locked up at night, to sleep, but during the day can wander around the prison, sit in a courtyard, take classes, purchase food in a restaurant, go to church or sit in her little "suite" to watch a DVD, cook, read, or listen to music.
On the occasions I came to visit we would sit outside and order lunch or a drink off one of the prisoners licenced to sell food. The banana smoothies are pretty good. Several of the ladies had children. They were running and playing and arguable better off in prison with their mothers than outside, orphaned on the street, like so many others. Cheryl misses her english speaking friend, a Philipino lady who was released a few weeks ago. She has not had visitors and her family has not been to see her, though her parents send her enough money to cover her expenses. She has 3 boys, with her first husband, from 15 to 23 and is not sure if they even know her situation.
Cheryl has been imprisoned for 2 years and 2 months though she has yet to be tried or convicted. She gave $4,000 to her lawyer, with assurances that this would be enough to pay her way out. It was all she could raise and he simply put it in his pocket leaving her angry and broke and vulnerable. Like all the prisoners, she must pay for everything inside. She must rent her room from the prison, though they deny this to Amnesty International, Prisoners Abroad and other interested groups. She purchases her food, toilet paper, and a shower costs 30 cents. She has had over a dozen visits to court. Each time she is acompanied by 2 police. She pays taxi costs and if it occurs over lunch then she pays for lunch for her guards too. To see a doctor it´s the same. Pay for the taxi, consultation fee and any meds she might need.
If a prisoner does not have family to send money, they must find a way to get it. Some steal, some find a job in the prison, others manufacture cocaine which they export, usually stuffed into condoms and hidden up inside their older children, who leave to attend school. The condoms are provided by a church group, trying to prevent women from becoming pregnant or infected while in prison.
Cheryl doesn´t speak much spanish and there are no other english speakers in prison so she was quite grateful for the company and conversation. I brought her some things she can´t get inside, like english books and movies, make-up and some fresh fruits. 3 limes is the maximum however, as people inject them with alchohol to take inside. I wish I could share a photo with you but cameras are forbidden and perhaps it´s best.
My visit yesterday was my last, sadly, as I´m leaving for the Amazon jungle today. I went to the prison with a few other backpackers who were interested to meet with her and they enjoyed their time as much as she did. With luck this will continue. People going to visit with her and telling others who do the same. It´s a chance to give something to someone in need, while learning a little bit about life in Bolivia in return.
Cheers, Roy
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
South America Jan/Feb 2010
Part I Argentina
Traveling by train is exciting for me and the 25 hour journey to Tucuman from Buenos Aires (BsAs) was no exception. I had spent a week in the capitol visiting friends, watching soccer and enjoying some Argentine asado, or BBQ, where I managed a generous helping of cow´s pancreas. "Nothing good? We ate pancreas". Then I said goodbye for a time.
The antique Retiro train station with it´s high vaulted ceiling, noisy peddlers, confusing announcements and a massive clock is a Hollywood cliche. I jostled my way to my train amid passengers dragging their belongings in 50kg grain sacs, suitcases and countless sturdy plastic bags stuffed to overflowing. Porters were pushing trolleys laden with crates, boxes tied with hemp, a bicycle here, a guitar there, even a large, though owl-less, chest.
I boarded 10 min early, the platform dotted with friends and families saying good bye, hugging and shaking hands, laughing and crying and couples kissing passionately, though being Argentina many of these couples were boarding together none the less. I found my seat in the second class car and said good morning to 3 teenage girls returning home from a Metalica concert. We chatted for almost 30 seconds before they lost interest and resumed their conversation. I then arranged my traveling things around me. Book, camera, water, i pod and several snacks including what turned out to be the perfect mango.
With a shrill whistle we departed on time - a rarity I´m told- and spent the first hour passing through the suburbs where lives 1/3 of the country´s 40 million, most of the homes along the tracks belonging to the very poor. With 24 hours to go I rationed out my snacks and then tucked into several portions. Good Plan. Poor execution.
The first 6 or 8 hours passed quickly with farming views, a pig rummaging along the tracks for food, a gaucho on horseback, or a barefoot child waving alongside. They never wave at buses I notice. Having consumed the remainder of my snacks, I made my way to the dining car for a thermos of hot water and then drank mate (mateh) for a couple hours, reading or staring out the windows. The Metalica girls wandered in and I wished them buenas noches. One of them braved a hello in English then they hurried past me, to their table, giggling,
Opting to dine later I returned to my seat via the toilet which was spacious and with a rather large window to admire the passing vistas I suppose. I relieved myself alternately staring out the window and staring down at the railway ties whizzing along beneath the open toilet hole, making a mental note not to eat the pork.
I finished my book (Thank you Dan) and returned to the dining car about 11pm, where I joined a couple at their table given that the entire car was full. The people of Argentina do enjoy dining quite late. We chatted over dinner and a couple bottles of wine and at 1pm they retired to their sleeping compartment and I to my seat which reclined nearly halfway. I fell to sleep quickly and slept soundly, owing to the swaying and clickety clack of our going.
We arrived an hour late, at midday, in the town of Tucuman, the birthplace of Argentine Independence. It was either 40 or 41 degrees centigrade, surly and quite humid. I found my feet taking me towards the bus station where they hoped to find a bus leaving shortly for the cooler mountains. My stroll took about an hour and every block, it seemed, encountered a new plaza or park with a statue of one of the founding fathers. I lost count at 8 or 9. Soaked with sweat, I stowed my backpack and boarded the first northbound bus to the town of Tafi de Valle. In Tafi I did some trekking about, then to Cafayate to sample local agriculture products, mostly made from grapes, and finally to Salta to view the well preserved remains of Inca child sacrifices, to catch up with Tensley, a teammate from home, and finally to meet up with Leandro, Marcos, Matias and Aramis, my friends from BsAs with whom I planned to travel north into Bolivia.
Part II Bolivia
My friends and I, numbering 5, hired a taxi for the 7 hour drive north which cost about the same as 5 bus tickets. 1 in the front seat, 3 in the back seat and 1 curled up in the boot with 1/2 the luggage. Not really grasping the democratic process of calling "Shotgun" my companeros never managed to spend any time up front with Carlos, our story telling driver. The journey north took us through 100´s of km of Quebradas, Grand Canyon-like scenery, a few shared beers and many stops to properly appreciate the vistas.
We passed through 9 military/police checkpoints and each time we would cover the person traveling illegally, in the back, with our coats and bags, and each time we were waved through with barely a peek in through the windows. We arrived at the border town of Villazon late, ate, slept, etc., then walked to the border control in the morning.
Marcos learned that his "papers" had expired 3 months earlier, however a small gratuity - I kid you not - got him through the first stage and a well orchestrated distraction helped him past the second stage. Amigos 10 Authorities 0. We were on a roll. Now in the interest of your time and mine I will be briefer as I hope to explain the next 2 weeks better with photos.
La Quiaca - Loads of cheap stuff. Bought some coca leaves.
Tupiza - Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were gunned down here. I escaped with barely a trace of sunburn.
Potosi - Appalling work conditions in silver mine. After beginning employment, workers enjoy a 20 year life expectancy and $4 per day. Getting to make and set off explosives.
Uyuni Salt Flats - Unique landscapes. Broke down 3 times. Saw vicuñas.
Oruro - Build up to Carnival, music, dance and water balloon fights in the streets.
Coroico - Mountain bike ride down "World´s most dangerous road". 4.7 km elevation to 1.2 km elevation, sheer drop offs over 500 m, washouts and wipe-outs. I watched Leandro blow a tire and then somersault to within his body length of a wee 60 m precipice.
Days and days on buses. Best scenery hands down, card games and exchanging dirty words in English for dirty words in Spanish. First 3 days no pavement.
Lago Titicaca (who doesn´t like saying that?) and Isla del Sol - Birthplace of Inca Sun God and hippie heaven.
La Paz, worlds highest capitol city, picturesque, vast poverty, dried llama fetuses in the witch markets, kind people and corruption. Trying, unsuccessfully, to bribe my way into it´s infamous prison. President lives 2 blocks from my hostel in his bullet scarred palace, the 200th change in govt in 185 years.
Just now I said farewell to 4 good friends, each heading for home, work or study, with promises to meet again soon. After a day or two of well deserved recovery from the altitude and other effects, I will begin looking for ways, meaningful or otherwise, to spend the next bit of my time in Bolivia. Until then....
Abrazo, Roy
Traveling by train is exciting for me and the 25 hour journey to Tucuman from Buenos Aires (BsAs) was no exception. I had spent a week in the capitol visiting friends, watching soccer and enjoying some Argentine asado, or BBQ, where I managed a generous helping of cow´s pancreas. "Nothing good? We ate pancreas". Then I said goodbye for a time.
The antique Retiro train station with it´s high vaulted ceiling, noisy peddlers, confusing announcements and a massive clock is a Hollywood cliche. I jostled my way to my train amid passengers dragging their belongings in 50kg grain sacs, suitcases and countless sturdy plastic bags stuffed to overflowing. Porters were pushing trolleys laden with crates, boxes tied with hemp, a bicycle here, a guitar there, even a large, though owl-less, chest.
I boarded 10 min early, the platform dotted with friends and families saying good bye, hugging and shaking hands, laughing and crying and couples kissing passionately, though being Argentina many of these couples were boarding together none the less. I found my seat in the second class car and said good morning to 3 teenage girls returning home from a Metalica concert. We chatted for almost 30 seconds before they lost interest and resumed their conversation. I then arranged my traveling things around me. Book, camera, water, i pod and several snacks including what turned out to be the perfect mango.
With a shrill whistle we departed on time - a rarity I´m told- and spent the first hour passing through the suburbs where lives 1/3 of the country´s 40 million, most of the homes along the tracks belonging to the very poor. With 24 hours to go I rationed out my snacks and then tucked into several portions. Good Plan. Poor execution.
The first 6 or 8 hours passed quickly with farming views, a pig rummaging along the tracks for food, a gaucho on horseback, or a barefoot child waving alongside. They never wave at buses I notice. Having consumed the remainder of my snacks, I made my way to the dining car for a thermos of hot water and then drank mate (mateh) for a couple hours, reading or staring out the windows. The Metalica girls wandered in and I wished them buenas noches. One of them braved a hello in English then they hurried past me, to their table, giggling,
Opting to dine later I returned to my seat via the toilet which was spacious and with a rather large window to admire the passing vistas I suppose. I relieved myself alternately staring out the window and staring down at the railway ties whizzing along beneath the open toilet hole, making a mental note not to eat the pork.
I finished my book (Thank you Dan) and returned to the dining car about 11pm, where I joined a couple at their table given that the entire car was full. The people of Argentina do enjoy dining quite late. We chatted over dinner and a couple bottles of wine and at 1pm they retired to their sleeping compartment and I to my seat which reclined nearly halfway. I fell to sleep quickly and slept soundly, owing to the swaying and clickety clack of our going.
We arrived an hour late, at midday, in the town of Tucuman, the birthplace of Argentine Independence. It was either 40 or 41 degrees centigrade, surly and quite humid. I found my feet taking me towards the bus station where they hoped to find a bus leaving shortly for the cooler mountains. My stroll took about an hour and every block, it seemed, encountered a new plaza or park with a statue of one of the founding fathers. I lost count at 8 or 9. Soaked with sweat, I stowed my backpack and boarded the first northbound bus to the town of Tafi de Valle. In Tafi I did some trekking about, then to Cafayate to sample local agriculture products, mostly made from grapes, and finally to Salta to view the well preserved remains of Inca child sacrifices, to catch up with Tensley, a teammate from home, and finally to meet up with Leandro, Marcos, Matias and Aramis, my friends from BsAs with whom I planned to travel north into Bolivia.
Part II Bolivia
My friends and I, numbering 5, hired a taxi for the 7 hour drive north which cost about the same as 5 bus tickets. 1 in the front seat, 3 in the back seat and 1 curled up in the boot with 1/2 the luggage. Not really grasping the democratic process of calling "Shotgun" my companeros never managed to spend any time up front with Carlos, our story telling driver. The journey north took us through 100´s of km of Quebradas, Grand Canyon-like scenery, a few shared beers and many stops to properly appreciate the vistas.
We passed through 9 military/police checkpoints and each time we would cover the person traveling illegally, in the back, with our coats and bags, and each time we were waved through with barely a peek in through the windows. We arrived at the border town of Villazon late, ate, slept, etc., then walked to the border control in the morning.
Marcos learned that his "papers" had expired 3 months earlier, however a small gratuity - I kid you not - got him through the first stage and a well orchestrated distraction helped him past the second stage. Amigos 10 Authorities 0. We were on a roll. Now in the interest of your time and mine I will be briefer as I hope to explain the next 2 weeks better with photos.
La Quiaca - Loads of cheap stuff. Bought some coca leaves.
Tupiza - Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were gunned down here. I escaped with barely a trace of sunburn.
Potosi - Appalling work conditions in silver mine. After beginning employment, workers enjoy a 20 year life expectancy and $4 per day. Getting to make and set off explosives.
Uyuni Salt Flats - Unique landscapes. Broke down 3 times. Saw vicuñas.
Oruro - Build up to Carnival, music, dance and water balloon fights in the streets.
Coroico - Mountain bike ride down "World´s most dangerous road". 4.7 km elevation to 1.2 km elevation, sheer drop offs over 500 m, washouts and wipe-outs. I watched Leandro blow a tire and then somersault to within his body length of a wee 60 m precipice.
Days and days on buses. Best scenery hands down, card games and exchanging dirty words in English for dirty words in Spanish. First 3 days no pavement.
Lago Titicaca (who doesn´t like saying that?) and Isla del Sol - Birthplace of Inca Sun God and hippie heaven.
La Paz, worlds highest capitol city, picturesque, vast poverty, dried llama fetuses in the witch markets, kind people and corruption. Trying, unsuccessfully, to bribe my way into it´s infamous prison. President lives 2 blocks from my hostel in his bullet scarred palace, the 200th change in govt in 185 years.
Just now I said farewell to 4 good friends, each heading for home, work or study, with promises to meet again soon. After a day or two of well deserved recovery from the altitude and other effects, I will begin looking for ways, meaningful or otherwise, to spend the next bit of my time in Bolivia. Until then....
Abrazo, Roy
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